


as a child i mostly spoke inside my head

by exceed



Series: so many things i'd say if only i were able [2]
Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Deals, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sickness, i'm so sorry my boy you didnt deserve this, of a sort, whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2019-04-24 04:58:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14348430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exceed/pseuds/exceed
Summary: He looked at the darkness.The darkness looked back.Angus is a very, very sick boy. He makes a deal.(recommended to read the first installment, order does not matter)





	as a child i mostly spoke inside my head

**Author's Note:**

> i remember saying something abt how he didnt know the hunger existed at first but shhh ignore that. this got into my head and i couldn't stop myself. i may do something that's after canon too as a part 3  
> thanks for reading!

He was alone.

Floating in sickness, too tired to process anything around him, quiet, shallow breathing on a tidy bed. His frame was gaunt, too weak to even sit up- he did not know how many people sat at his bedside, crying, or if nobody but his grandfather came at all.

It all bled together.

He didn’t want to be alone like this, of course. He needed companionship for his active mind, even if he had a weary body, and it called out for help, for aid, for assistance. He could not stand this fog clouding his mind, even at a young age- ten was too young for this kind of maturity but oh, he was mature, he had the force of a child and the knowledge of an adult and his mind kept racing even as he got worse and worse and worse.

A cry, a plea, a whimper in the darkness.

Seeing the back of his eyelids, seeing the darkness, seeing the void that encompassed all- he was so, so tired. Why did he want help? Breathing hurt. Living hurt. He was so _tired._

He looked at the darkness.

The darkness looked back.

Angus McDonald, alone with his thoughts, lying on a bed in an empty room in a quiet house, noticed.

The darkness did not move. It was no different than before, yet he could sense that something had shifted, that an attention had fallen upon his former cries. He could call no more. Something had noticed, from far away, and that was good enough for him. For now, he breathed easier, just a bit, even as each hoarse, shallow intake of air snuck through his lungs with an aching stab, whispering and screeching and scraping against his body.

He heard, from far away, a murmur.

Millions- no, billions upon billions of voices, building upon one another until it was a hum at the back of his mind, until he was full of their words, until he realized how wondrous this attention was. It was worried, whispering and talking to him until they quieted, one voice rising above the others.

It was the darkness on the back of his eyelids, in the area around him, in the void around the world. Angus let out another pained breath.

 _You are sick,_ it said, wrapping around his mind in a loving caress _. You are sick, and no cleric can help, can they? You are dying._ Its words melted into his bones, reverberated into his mind until all he could focus on were his own thoughts and the voice. Pain was not there. Pain? He had never felt pain. He was floating.

Angus McDonald faintly realized- oh, he was dying. His eyes opened as he took a breath, unpained, and his quiet gaze fell upon the figure of a man.

Slim cracks of black ran along his arms, flaking off into larger areas that were dashed with color. He was the sort of man that- well. Angus wasn’t sure he would trust him, but he was elsewhere, and he had read many detective books over the years. It was safer to not trust someone, even if they pulled you out of your dying body and into a new, safer space.

He remembered the pain.

Angus McDonald marvelled in the feeling of a stronger body, of breathing that didn’t rattle and scrape and ache, and he smiled at the figure seated at a table in front of him. A long, long table that overlooked an evening sky, one with chairs at either end and none on the sides- a tall seat on one end, as if he had expected a child or a short person.

He sat down.

“Do you feel alright?” The voice was the one he had hear before, quiet but almost commanding attention, eyes full of concern even though the voice was not. Angus played with the hem of his shirt impulsively as he thought. The man seemed to smile when he didn’t answer immediately, looking out at the windows. “Take your time.”

“I…” Angus was quiet as he remembered that- that speaking was a thing that didn’t hurt. It didn’t, really, unless you were a little boy dying of something nobody knew about. Something that no high-paid cleric could make heads or tails of.

“I...I feel better,” he said tentatively, eyes blinking from behind glasses in the well-lit room. The more he sat there, the more he noticed something- a chess board tucked into a corner, pieces neatly placed upon it, odds and ends that seemed to have been from decades, a century of collection. Gifts, perhaps. A gathering of plants was bunched up in the corner. “Who are you, sir?”

“My name is John,” he said patiently, hands clasped together.

Angus wasn’t sure if he was lying or not.

“I’m Angus McDonald,” he said politely instead of voicing his concerns, almost mimicking the man as he raised his arms up onto the table and let his fingers interlock. “I assume you’re who pulled me out of...an awake state, I guess.”

The man- John- seemed to consider it before shrugging, looking back at him with that upturn of the lips. “We are.”

“We?”

“I am part of...a group,” he said almost delicately, as if Angus wouldn’t understand easily. “Of many people. We act as...as one, with me leading.” Silence fell. He remembered the billions upon billions of whispers, of voices, and nodded. “You know. We...heard your calls. None of the gods bothered to answer. No celestial being _wanted_ to bother. Maybe none wanted to even try.”

It almost hit Angus in the face. He didn’t- he didn’t worship a god, but they were there and they helped people and- and-

His posture seemed to alarm the man just a bit as the table- shrunk, as John got closer, close enough to lay a hand on one of his. “We noticed,” he murmured, eyes kind and smile truthful and the black areas on his arms pulsing with color. “We noticed, Angus. It- it isn’t your time. You have potential, untapped reserves- you’re a kind, smart boy, Angus McDonald. You deserve a second chance.”

Angus’ eyes were wide, so wide behind the frames as he looked up at John, as the man seemed to light up with a passion, as he stood up abruptly and started pacing around the room. “The sick are left behind if their problems are not solved easily, the weak are ignored, everyone is cast aside unless their potential is obvious, if it is recognized, but so many people are wonderful, fascinating. Children like you, Angus, smart beyond your years- wise, brave, so brave even when you were so sick. Everyone deserves more but life does not _let_ them.” He was breathing hard, hands clenched into fists, and his breath was taken away by the pure passion in his eyes, in his rising voice..

“The gods do not intervene, the set course of life does not change. We- I will be the deciding factor for once in this godsdammed world.”

Their eyes were alive as the energy in the room heightened, as the murmurs and the whispers broke back in- before it shut down, his posture rigid, breathing deep as he tried to calm down. John stared into the distance as Angus felt like the wind had been knocked out of him- something powerful had just happened, something that unsteadied him.

“I will make a deal with you, Angus,” he said softly, quietly. Angus was riveted. “I will- we will restore your health, keep you young, let you live even longer than a human lifespan will allow. In return, you will work for me as my warlock. Take my information and find something that will let us live. We are powerful, but we are _starving_.”

His chuckle reverberated within the room. “Someone sitting in that chair once called me something that- that has stuck with me, Angus. Do you know what name that could be?”

Angus shook his head.

John laughed, and laughed, and laughed until tears welled up and he wiped them away.

“He called us the Hunger,” he said simply, eyes closed and posture relaxed from where it had been so set just a moment ago. “We are beautiful, really, and the Hunger sounds dangerous but- but we are searching for a way to break the boundaries of life,” he murmured. “To stop things like sick boys never getting to reach their full potential.”

John smiled and Angus smiled back, on reflex- but the smile stayed. “Bring what we are searching for together again. I do not know exactly where you are, not really- but we are searching, and we will find what we are looking for eventually. Perhaps it will be on your plane, Angus.”

A chance to live, to live long-

“I will let you live, let you thrive with all of our powers at your disposal. You can experience the joys of the world, unlock your potential, and if you are on the correct plane- you will find what we need and we will not be so- so starved.”

A hand reached out across the gap, so close to his but not touching.

“Take this deal, Angus McDonald,” John whispered, almost too quiet to hear. “We will both be happier, in the end.”

There was no other choice, was there?

He wanted to live.

He wanted to thrive, to not sit on a bed for eternity coughing and rasping and wasting away and dying. Angus McDonald wanted to see the world, to talk to others, and he would do anything to have that chance.

So he took the hand, took in a deep breath, and let the overflow of power and information from this- this thing, this far away creature, and he let it soak through his skin, through his bones. He sunk back into his body and took a breath and for the first time in so long, it was painless.

Angus McDonald, new Warlock of the Hunger, sat up on his bed and laughed. Laughed and laughed and laughed and did not realize what he had gained- too powerful, so locked to his skin and his bones and his blood that he did not take in his surroundings.

His grandfather watched as his grandson vanished before his eyes, seemingly possessed in his hysteria.

He blinked- and he was gone.

Angus McDonald, nearly dead, had- had recovered and vanished away before his eyes. He squinted, rubbed his eyes- and shook his head, a deep frown on his face.

Had...had he been seeing things again? The ghost of his dead grandson? Nearly dead? He- he didn’t know.

He needed to go see a cleric.


End file.
